The Ghost(英文版)- 第23部分

　　whole　town　will　turn　out　for　you。　I’m　waiting　to　hear　back　from　the　vice　president；　but　that　would　be　a　private　meeting。”

　　“And　the　media？”　said　Lang。　“We’ll　need　to　respond　soon。”

　　“On　the　way　to　the　airport；　we’ll　pull　over　and　say　a　few　words。　I　can　make　a　statement；　if　you　like。　All　you　have　to　do　is　stand　next　to　me。”

　　“No；”　said　Lang　firmly。　“No。　Absolutely　not。　That　really　will　make　me　look　guilty。　I’ll　have　to　talk　to　them　myself。　Ruth；　what　do　you　think　about　going　to　Washington？”

　　“I　think　it’s　a　terrible　idea。　I’m　sorry；　Sid；　I　know　you’re　working　hard　for　us；　but　we’ve　got　to　consider　how　this　will　play　in　Britain。　If　Adam　goes　to　Washington；　he’ll　look　like　America’s　whipping　boy；　running　crying　home　to　Daddy。”

　　“So　what　would　you　do？”

　　“Fly　back　to　London。”　Kroll　began　to　object　but　Ruth　talked　over　him。　“The　British　people　may　not　like　him　much　at　the　moment；　but　if　there’s　one　thing　they　hate　more　than　Adam；　it’s　interfering

　　foreigners　telling　them　what　to　do。　The　government　will　have　to　support　him。”

　　Amelia　said；　“The　British　government　are　going　to　cooperate　fully　with　the　investigation。”

　　“Oh；　really？”　said　Ruth；　in　a　voice　as　sweet　as　cyanide。　“And　what　makes　you　think　that？”

　　“I’m　not　thinking　it；　Ruth；　I’m　reading　it。　It’s　on　the　television。　Look。”

　　We　looked。　The　headline　was　running　across　the　bottom　of　the　screen：　“BREAKING　NEWS：　BRITISH

　　GOVT　‘WILL　COOPERATE　FULLY’　WITH　WAR　CRIMES　PROBE。”

　　“How　dare　they？”　cried　Ruth。　“After　all　we’ve　done　for　them！”

　　Josh　said；　“With　respect；　ma’am；　as　signatory　to　the　ICC；　the　British　government　has　no　choice。

　　It’s　obliged　under　international　law　to　‘cooperate　fully。’　Those　are　the　precise　words　of　Article　Eighty…six。”

　　“And　what　if　the　ICC　eventually　decides　to　arrest　me？”　asked　Lang　quietly。　“Do　the　British　government　‘cooperate　fully’　with　that　as　well？”

　　Josh　had　already　found　the　relevant　place　on　his　laptop。　“That’s　covered　by　Article　Fifty…nine；　sir。　‘A　State　Party　which　has　received　a　request　for　a　provisional　arrest　or　for　arrest　and　surrender　shall　immediately　take　steps　to　arrest　the　person　in　question。’”

　　“Well；　I　think　that　settles　it；”　said　Lang。　“Washington　it　is。”

　　Ruth　folded　her　arms。　The　gesture　reminded　me　of　Kate：　a　warning　of　storms　to　come。　“I　still　say

　　it　will　look　bad；”　she　said。

　　“Not　as　bad　as　being　led　away　in　handcuffs　from　Heathrow。”

　　“At　least　it　would　show　you　had　some　guts。”

　　“Then　why　the　hell　don’t　you　just　fly　back　without　me？”　snapped　Lang。　Like　his　outburst　of　the　previous　afternoon；　it　wasn’t　so　much　the　display　of　temper　that　was　startling　as　the　way　it　suddenly　erupted。　“If　the　British　government　want　to　hand　me　over　to　this　kangaroo　court；　then　fuck　them！　I’ll　go　where　people　want　me。　Amelia；　tell　the　boys　we’re　leaving　in　five　minutes。　Get　one　of　the　girls　to　pack　me　an　overnight　bag。　And　you’d　better　pack　one　for　yourself。”

　　“Oh；　but　why　don’t　you　share　a　suitcase？”　said　Ruth。　“It　will　be　so　much　more　convenient。”

　　At　that；　the　very　air　seemed　to　congeal。　Even　Kroll’s　little　smile　froze　at　the　edges。　Amelia　hesitated；　then　nervously　smoothed　down　her　skirt；　picked　up　her　notebook；　and　rose　in　a　hiss　of　silk。　As　she　walked　across　the　room　toward　the　stairs；　she　kept　her　gaze　fixed　straight　ahead。　Her　throat　was　flushed　a　tasteful　pink；　her　lips　compressed。　Ruth　waited　until　she　had　gone；　then　slowly　uncoiled　her　feet　from　beneath　her　and　carefully　pulled　on　her　flat；　wooden…soled　shoes。　She；　too；　left　without　a　word。　Thirty　seconds　later；　a　door　slammed　downstairs。

　　Lang　flinched　and　sighed。　He　got　up　and　collected　his　jacket　from　the　back　of　a　chair　and　shrugged　it　on。　That　was　the　signal　for　us　all　to　move。　The　paralegals　snapped　their　laptops　shut。　Kroll　stood　and　stretched；　spreading　his　fingers　wide：　he　reminded　me　of　a　cat；　arching　its　back　and　briefly　unsheathing　its　claws。　I　put　away　my　notebook。

　　“I’ll　see　you　tomorrow；”　said　Lang；　offering　me　his　hand。　“Make　yourself　comfortable。　I’m　sorry　to　abandon　you。　At　least　all　this　coverage　should　improve　sales。”

　　“That’s　true；”　I　said。　I　cast　around　for　something　to　say　that　would　lighten　the　atmosphere。　“Perhaps　Rhinehart’s　publicity　department　have　arranged　the　whole　thing。”

　　“Well；　tell　them　to　stop　it；　will　you？”　He　smiled；　but　his　eyes　looked　bruised　and　puffy。

　　“What　are　you　going　to　say　to　the　media？”　asked　Kroll；　putting　his　arm　across　Lang’s　shoulders。

　　“I　don’t　know。　Let’s　talk　about　it　in　the　car。”

　　As　Lang　turned　to　leave；　Kroll　gave　me　a　wink。　“Happy　ghosting；”　he　said。

　　NINE

　　What　if　they　lie　to　you？　“Lie”　is　probably　too　strong　a　word。　Most　of　us　tend　to　embroider　our　memories　to　suit　the　picture　of　ourselves　that　we　would　like　the　world　to　see。

　　Ghostwritin　g

　　I　COULD　HAVE　GONEdown　to　see　them　off。　Instead　I　watched　them　leave　on　television。　I　always　say　you　can’t　beat　sitting　in　front　of　a　TV　screen　if　you’re　after　that　authentic；　firsthand　experience。　For　example；　it’s　curious　how　helicopter　news　shots　impart　to　even　the　most　innocent　activity　the　dangerous　whiff　of　criminality。　When　Jeff　the　chauffeur　brought　the　armored　Jaguar　round　to　the　front　of　the　house　and　left　the　engine　running；　it　looked　for　all　the　world　as　if　he　were　organizing　a　Mafia　getaway　just　before　the　cops　arrived。　In　the　cold　New　England　air；　the　big　car　seemed　to　float　on　a　sea　of　exhaust　fumes。

　　I　had　the　same　disorientating　feeling　that　I’d　experienced　the　previous　day；　when　Lang’s　statement　started　pinging　back　at　me　from　the　ether。　On　the　television　I　could　see　one　of　the　Special　Branch　men　opening　the　rear　passenger　door；　and　standing　there；　holding　it　open；　while　down　in　the　corridor　I　could　hear　Lang　and　the　others　preparing　to　leave。　“All　right；　people？”　Kroll’s　voice　floated　up　the　staircase。　“Is　everybody　ready？　Okay。　Remember：　happy；　happy　faces。　Here　we　go。”　The　front　door　opened；　and　moments　later　on　the　screen　I　glimpsed　the　top　of　the　ex–prime　minister’s　head　as　he　took　the　few　hurried　steps　to　the　car。　He　ducked　out　of　sight；　just　as　his　attorney　scuttled　after　him；　round　to　the　Jaguar’s　other　side。　At　the　bottom　of　the　picture　it　said；　“ADAM　LANG　LEAVES　MARTHA’S　VINEYARD　HOUSE。”　They　know　everything；　I　thought；　these　satellite　boys；　but　they’ve　never　heard　of　tautology。

　　Behind　them；　the　entourage　debouched　in　rapid　single　file　from　the　house　and　headed　for　the　minivan。　Amelia　was　in　the　lead；　her　hand　clutched　to　her　immaculate　blonde　hair　to　protect　it　against　the　rotors’　downdraft；　then　came　the　secretaries；　followed　by　the　paralegals；　and　finally　a　couple　of　bodyguards。

　　The　long；　dark　shapes　of　the　cars；　their　headlights　gleaming；　pulled　out　of　the　compound　and　set　off　through　the　ashy　expanse　of　scrub　oak　toward　the　West　Tisbury　highway。　The　helicopter　tracked　them；　whirling　away　the　few　winter　leaves　and　flattening　the　sparse　grass。　Gradually；　for　the　first　time　that　morning；　as　the　noise　of　its　rotors　faded；　something　like　peace　returned　to　the　house。　It　was　as　if　the　eye　of　a　great　electrical　storm　had　finally　moved　on。　I　wondered　where　Ruth　was；　and　whether　she　was　also　watching　the　coverage。　I　stood　at　the　top　of　the　stairs　and　listened　for　a　e　I　returned　to　the　television；　the　coverage　had　shifted　from　aerial　to　ground　level；　and　Lang’s　limousine　was　pulling　out　of　the　woods。

　　A　lot　more　police　had　arrived　at　the　end　of　the　track；　courtesy　of　the　Commonwealth　of　Massachusetts；　and　a　line　of　them　was　keeping　the　demonstrators　safely　corralled　on　the　opposite　side　of　the　highway。　For　a　moment　the　Jaguar　appeared　to　be　accelerating　toward　the　airport；　but　then　its　brake　lights　glowed　and　it　stopped。　The　minivan　swerved　to　a　halt　behind　it。　And　suddenly；　there　was　Lang；　coatless；　seemingly　as　oblivious　to　the　cold　as　he　was　to　the　chanting　crowd；　striding　over　to　the　cameras；　trailed　by　three　Special　Branch　men。　I　hunted　around　for　the　remote　in　the　chair　where　Amelia　had　been　sitting—her　scent　still　lingered　on　the　leather—pointed　it　at　the　screen；　and　pumped　up　the　volume。

　　“I　apologize　for　keeping　you　waiting　so　long　in　the　cold；”　Lang　began。　“I　just　wanted　to　say　a　few　words　in　response　to　the　news　from　The　Hague。”　He　paused　and　glanced　at　the　ground。　He　often　did　that。　Was　it　genuine；　or　merely　contrived；　to　give　an　impression　of　spontaneity？　With　him；　one　never　knew。　The　chant　of　“Lang！　Lang！　Lang！　Liar！　Liar！　Liar！”　was　clearly　audible　in　the　background。

　　“These　are　strange　times；”　he　said　and　hesitated　again；　“strange　times”—and　now　at　last　he　looked　up—“when　those　who　have　always　stood　for　freedom；　peace；　and　justice　are　accused　of　being　criminals；　while　those　who　openly　incite　hatred；　glorify　slaughter；　and　seek　the　destruction　of　democracy　are　treated　by　the　law　as　ifthey　are　victims。”

　　“Liar！　Liar！　Liar！”

　　“As　I　said　in　my　statement　yesterday；　I　have　always　been　a　strong　supporter　of　the　International　Criminal　Court。　I　believe　in　its　work。　I　believe　in　the　integrity　of　its　judges。　And　that　is　why　I　do　not　fear　this　investigation。　Because　I　know　in　my　heart　I　have　done　nothing　wrong。”

　　He　glanced　across　at　the　demonstrators。　For　the　first　time　he　appeared　to　notice　the　waving　placards：　his　face；　the　prison　bars；　the　orange　jumpsuit；　the　bloodied　hands。　The　line　of　his　mouth　set　firm。

　　“I　refuse　to　be　intimidated；”　he　said；　with　an　upward　tilt　of　his　chin。　“I　refuse　to　be　made　a　scapegoat。　I　refuse　to　be　distracted　from　my　work　combating　AIDS；　poverty；　and　global　warming。　For　that　reason；　I　propose　to　travel　now　to　Washington　to　carry　on　my　schedule　as　planned。　To　everyone　watching　in　the　United　Kingdom　and　throughout　the　world；　let　me　make　one　thing　perfectly　clear：　as　long　as　I　have　breath　in　my　body；　I　shall　fight　terrorism　wherever　it　has　to　be　fought；　whether　it　be　on　the　battlefield　or—if　necessary—in　the　courts。　Thank　you。”

　　Ignoring　the　shouted　questions—“When　are　you　going　back　to　Britain；　Mr。　Lang？”　“Do